


Doppio

by red_as_ever



Series: Guns for Hire AU (the "Night-line") [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, Guns For Hire AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 17:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2782187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_as_ever/pseuds/red_as_ever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>York isn't coping well with the loss of his eye. Carolina takes it upon herself to get him back in the real world. Yorkalina, Guns for Hire AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doppio

**Author's Note:**

> All characters are the property of Roosterteeth; aesthetic and designs are inspired by Synnesai's Guns for Hire AU artwork.

Carolina has got to get York out of the house. Doctor Grey gave up trying to keep him in the recovery room two days ago. Rather than retreat to his room, he’s moved into the common area. If anyone is in the kitchen, he’s usually in there chatting with them. Otherwise, he’s monopolizing the couch. Carolina isn’t sure how someone can be simultaneously exhausted and going stir-crazy, but York has somehow managed it. She suspects the painkillers might have something to do with it.

The other mercenaries aren’t helping. When South first saw him, she teased him past the limits of even Carolina’s tolerance. North must have said something to her about it. While she didn’t apologize, she didn’t do it again, either. Wyoming has no such scruples. He keeps coming in for tea, needling York every time he sees him. And York just takes it. He knew he messed up, and he doesn’t bother to defend himself.

Worst of all is Texas. She came in just after Carolina joined York for breakfast; the sight of her made him flinch so violently that he almost fell out of his chair. The color drained from his face and still wasn’t back when they had finished eating. He insisted that the pain pills made him feel nauseated. Carolina just went along with it. There’s no nice way to tell someone they’re acting like a puppy who has been kicked too many times.

Instead, she brings his jacket to the common area. He lounges on the couch, hair touched up for the first time all week. “Hey,” she says, handing the jacket to him. “Let’s go get lunch.”

He looks up at her. Considers. “Okay,” he says. He even smiles. The skin around his scar moves but doesn’t tear; it’s a good sign. He’s healing.

Or so she thinks until he pulls his new helmet out of the locker. He stands there for a minute, staring at the new visor like he can’t believe it’s there. The pressure of his hands turns his fingertips white. She can hear his breathing, short and frantic.

When he catches her looking, he smiles and pulls on the helmet like nothing is wrong.

It will be the first time he’s been out since the accident. The first time back in a helmet. She didn’t stop to consider what that would mean.

But he’s already moved into the garage. If he isn’t going to bring it up, she won’t, either.

They head to his favorite coffee shop. She’s never eaten there, but Wash and Connie swear by the food, and she knows York is desperate for some “good coffee” (his complaining about South’s coffee is what started this morning’s argument, now that she thinks about it). Nothing like a familiar place to ease him back into the world.

Yet he hesitates when they exit the filtration room. Maybe this transition won’t be as easy as she thinks. She already has her helmet off, so she hands it to him. “Go grab us a seat while I order?” she asks. He nods, mute. She watches him go, his shoulders rigid and his helmet turned pointedly away from the patrons and employees who now watch him.

Of all the times for him to be self-conscious, this is probably the most dangerous. York needs people. It’s the real reason he’s been haranguing their peers. Being here, with the patrons and servers he knows? She doesn’t blame him for being afraid. She just doesn’t want him to wallow in it. Won’t let him. She cares too much to let this destroy him.

Ordering the coffee is easy: a chai tea latte for her, and he’ll want an artisan coffee with two sugars. The food, however, is trickier.

“You could split a salad,” the barista suggests.

Carolina considers. Fresh food is never cheap. Yet there’s one on the menu with chicken, apples, and candied walnuts that sounds tempting, especially with its two sources of protein. She worries that York isn’t eating right. This could be what he needs.

She takes the receipt and an order tag. While adding the sugar to York’s coffee, she surveys the café. He sits against the back wall, back straight and hands clenched beneath the table. He hasn’t taken off his helmet. Carolina sighs. Where can he be comfortable if not his favorite shop?

She strides across the room to join him. Setting their drinks on the table, she sits not across from him but on the bench beside him. His hands reach to wrap around the coffee. “Thank you,” he says.

“You can’t drink it with your helmet on,” she says. “Here.” She reaches for his helmet. He shies away from her. Stops. Whether he loves her or he trusts her or he just wants that coffee, he leans in. Loosening the seal, she fingers the release. His hands join hers, and together, they lift the helmet free of his head.

Belatedly she realizes that their audience is to his left. They have as clear a view of his scabbed-over face and whited-out eye as she does. He starts to hunch down, to hide; she sees panic and tears glisten in both eyes.

She leans forward. Kisses just between two arcs of new scar tissue. He shudders, hands tightening on hers. She moves to kiss his lips, slow and soft and teasing him out.

Focus on her, York. Don’t worry about their eyes. Don’t notice that they’re all watching.

He responds quickly. Eagerly, even. She lets him take the lead; as much as she wants to give him her usual ferocity, she’s not sure he’s ready for that yet.

They’re interrupted by someone clearing their throat. Porcelain taps against the tabletop. They look up to see the server backing away, the ordering tag replaced by their salad. York frees one hand from Carolina’s so he can pull the bowl toward them. Excitement brightens both of his eyes (she hopes it’s from both the kiss and the salad, not just the latter).

“This looks great, ‘Lina,” he says. With one of the forks, he scoops up a forkful of salad with a huge candied walnut. Ha, she and her sweet tooth have him now.

But he raises the fork to her instead. “You want the first bite?” he asks. He smiles bigger than she’s seen in more than a week.

She sits forward and eats off his fork. He looks entirely too pleased with himself. Okay, the candied walnuts were a great call; they’re the right blend of crisp and sweet to tie the salad together.

When he catches her watching him, he grins. “My turn,” he says. Closing his eyes, he opens his mouth like a baby bird. She can’t help laughing. He can’t pout without closing his mouth.

“All right,” she says. First, she reaches over to ruffle that impeccably-styled hair.

But she comes in from his blind side. He twitches away from her.

Some things will have to change.

She pulls her hand away. “I’m sorry,” she says.

“Don’t be,” he says. He looks away—he can’t meet her eyes.

“Hey.” She has a fork full of salad ready by the time he looks up. “We can do this.”

“You really aren’t going to give up on me, are you?”

She pushes the salad into his mouth with a smile. “Absolutely not.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. “I’d be a great ghost. I could scare unwanted people away from the base. Like Wyoming when he’s in one of his moods.”

“I prefer you here,” she says. She smooths her thumb over his knuckles.

“I kind of like it here, too.” He smiles. “I’ve missed the coffee.”

“Fine. I’ll eat this salad by myself,” she says.

He intercepts her fork with his. She lets him steal a candied walnut from her. Just this once.

As it turns out, eating a salad goes more quickly when they aren’t feeding each other. The conversation dies; they’re both hungry enough to sit quietly, only the crunch of lettuce and apples interrupting their thoughts. Several patrons try to catch York’s eye, to gesture in greeting. The first time, he flushes, embarrassed, and responds with a half-hearted wave. The second time, he’s calmer. After the barista smiles at him, he actually goes to the counter.

“I wanted a refill,” he says when Carolina teases him.

“So you were over there for seven minutes?” she asks.

He smiles into his coffee cup. “She wanted to know how I was doing,” he says. “Didn’t ask about the eye, though.”

“Of course not,” she says. “We’re worried about you, not your eye.” She doesn’t mention that all of Gulch probably knows by now. Instead, she kisses the still-healing skin beside his eye.

This time, he doesn’t pull away, and she can feel a laugh welling up in him.

“All right,” he says. “I get it. I’ll stop wallowing.”

Pauses.

“But I might need to take you to dinner. Reinforcement and all that.”

She grins. “I’m not sure,” she teases. “You’re kind of a slow learner. It might take longer than just dinner.”

“It’s a good thing you love me,” he says.

“Yes,” she says. “Yes, it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this piece on my cell phone while camping and the contraption decided to delete it all. Boo. I liked the idea enough that I had to rewrite it; I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!


End file.
